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I faced the street again. The glass reflected the faint lift at one corner of her mouth. She was learning to read me. I should have stopped that earlier.

My attention returned to the street, but my thoughts did not follow.

Talia shifted behind me again. Her chair creaked. Then it creaked a second time, deliberately.

“You know,” she said, “for someone who claims not to stare, you spend a lot of time at windows.”

“I am monitoring the street.”

“Has it done anything suspicious?”

“No.”

“Maybe threaten it.”

I almost responded.

Stopped.

Her reflection smiled.

The ease of it irritated me more than the joke.

I left the window and returned to the table.

Talia glanced up. “Street finally confess?”

“No.”

“Disappointing.”

I sat across from her.

The terminal remained open between us. VYR. The identifier looked wrong outside the systems built to contain it.

She followed my gaze to the display but did not ask a question. Again. I had not realized how much I relied on her doing that until she stopped.

“My mother believes I died in service.”

Talia went still.

The sentence had been easier inside my head.

Outside it, the words felt too large for the room.

Her eyes lifted slowly to mine. “Your mother.”

“Yes.”

I expected the next question. It did not come. Silence stretched between us. I disliked it.

“My sister does as well,” I added.

Something changed in Talia’s expression.

Not pity. Good.

I would have ended the conversation immediately if it had been pity.